Meanwhile
by KADH
Summary: Some things never change. Even thousands of miles away, Gil Grissom can still cause more than his fair share of mayhem and mischief. This time it’s just a different sort of mayhem and mischief. Circa Winter 2009.
1. Notice of Intent

Some things never change.

Even thousands of miles away, Gil Grissom can still cause more than his fair share of mayhem and mischief. This time it's just a different sort of mayhem and mischief.

Follows "Going with the Living" and takes place during Winter/Spring 2009.

*******

**Notice of Intent**

_Two Weeks Previously, Costa Rica_

It was getting to be rather late on that particular Saturday and Sara was just beginning to think that the whole _divide and conquer_ approach to that week's supply list was perhaps not such a good idea after all, when she spotted a very calm and collected looking Gil Grissom perched, pen in hand, in front of one of the many _sodas,_ or local diners, that punctuated the town's market district.

The better to get a good view of what he seemed to be so intent on scribbling, she crept up behind him and leaned in.

"Yes, dear?" he said without bothering to look up.

"Since when do you send post cards?" she inquired keenly.

"I believe you were the one who told me that a note to Catherine was overdue," Grissom replied evenly. "Besides, I saw this one and couldn't resist. _Cairina moschata_, a Moscovy Duck," he explained as he flipped it over to reveal the words _Greetings from Costa Rica _emblazoned over of all things a photograph of a brightly plumaged duck.

Readily recalling her former co-worker's almost passionate loathing of all waterfowl (thanks in part to Catherine's having had to share her office with a duck-loving supervisor from day shift for while), Sara grinned and said, "Oh, she is going to just love that.

"But wouldn't email be faster?"

"But not nearly so much fun," he countered and returned to his writing.

As Sara put down her packages and took a seat across from him, she said in a suspicious voice, "You're up to something." To which he merely smiled and finished inscribing the address pane. This done, he slid the card over for her to peruse.

It was a short message, not more than a few lines. The first of which must have referred to some sort of private joke between Grissom and Catherine as Sara had no clue what it was referring to, but when her eyes fell on the postscript, she smirked and said, "Well, that will certainly give them all something to talk about."

*******

_Las Vegas_

Catherine Willows was on her way to the break room in order to inhale one last quick cup of coffee before evening assignments when she decided to stop and pay a visit to Grissom's office. Although it had been well over a month since her former boss and friend had occupied the space, she still thought of it that way, as Grissom's office. She supposed old habits died hard.

It had taken her nearly that long to have the rest of the boxes of books and specimens (apart from a handful of ones that Grissom had requested she send to Costa Rica after the first of the year) picked up and placed into storage.

Thankfully, the space hadn't remained empty for long. While she certainly had no designs on it herself, having become rather comfortably ensconced in her own office over the last several years, Nick didn't have any qualms about moving in, providing that he didn't have to occupy it all by himself. Greg and Riley had both readily jumped at having a real office even if it was shared.

Catherine took a few slightly reluctant steps inside and peered around, still trying to get used to this new status quo. As the trio had only taken up residency a few days before, the office still had that _not quite moved in yet_ look to it.

"Getting settled in okay?" she asked Nick who was at the moment the room's only occupant.

Nick Stokes peered up from the case file he was reviewing and replied with a noncommittal shrug, "Still takes some getting used to."

She nodded and gave him a soft, knowing smile. It would probably take a while for all of them to get used to all of the changes. But then as Grissom used to say, the only constant in the universe was change.

Then something unexpected caught her eye. She quickly strode over to the half-empty bookshelf in order to investigate. While it wasn't like she hadn't seen a fetal pig in a jar in this office before, she didn't expect to find it there now.

"Where did you get Miss Piggy?" she inquired curiously.

"Office warming present from Hodges," Nick supplied.

"That was sweet of him," said Catherine. "Although I am not quite sure I want to know how or where he got it from."

"Probably not," Nick readily concurred. Then seeing the thick stack she was grasping he rejoined almost flippantly, "Enjoying all the extra paper work?"

Catherine pursed her lips. She still had no idea how paperwork could multiply so fast in just twelve hours. She began to thumb through the pile and rued over the fact that somehow part of her mail had gotten mixed up with the evening's assignment slips.

Nick closed the file he had been working on and glancing up at the clock said as he got to his feet, "You planning on handing out those assignments tonight, boss? Or are you going to just let us duke it out? Because while I know I can take Greg, I am not quite so sure about Riley."

When she didn't answer, but merely continued to stand there seemingly preoccupied with the papers in her hands, Nick came up and said, "You okay?" Then when a slow smile began to spread across her face, he was even more baffled.

"Since when does paperwork make anyone smile?" he asked.

"It's not paperwork," she replied, pulling a glossy postcard from the stack.

"Costa Rica?" Nick queried. "Who do you know in Costa Rica?"

"Same person you do."

"Grissom?" came his incredulous reply. "But what's in Costa Rica?"

"More like _who_."

"_Sara_?"

Catherine smirked. "Who did you think?"

Nick shrugged and sighed. "I guess I just never thought of Grissom as the _run off in order to get the girl_ kind of guy."

At this, she let out a soft chuckle. "I have the feeling there is a lot to Grissom that we never thought about. But he must have had one heck of a reception," she said, handing him the card.

Nick flipped it over and read.

"'We have some news.' What the heck is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Knowing the two of them, who knows."

Nick eyed her suspiciously. "You don't look all that surprised."

She only grinned and taking the card back from him, turned towards the door.

"_Catherine_," Nick called, suddenly realizing exactly what her silence meant. "You knew. You knew all along why he was leaving and didn't say anything."

"It wasn't my place to tell."

"Like that's ever stopped you before," he protested. "I can't believe he actually told you."

"He didn't," she replied. "He didn't have to."

Nick rolled his eyes and said dismissively, "So you just worked it all out on your own."

"You do know what they say."

"No, what's that?"

Catherine leaned on the doorframe and said, "_Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice shame on me_."

"Does this mean along with your new supervisory duties you are going to be providing quotations as well?"

"Petulance doesn't suit you, Nicky."


	2. Calling In

**Calling In**

Usually, seven a.m. was a fairly uneventful hour at the crime lab. Usually.

It was the time when Grave was just starting to wind down, and Days and more importantly the bureaucrats, weren't due in for at least an hour yet. But on this particular morning _usually_ didn't seem to apply, especially as an important appeals case had everyone more than a little tense.

Except for Judy Tremont at the front desk, who answered the ever-ringing departmental phone with her customarily unflappable, "Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Until the voice on the other end said, "Catherine Willows please."

"Dr. Grissom, is that you?" Judy stammered in surprise.

"How are you, Judy?" Grissom replied.

"Fine," she answered still rather dumbfounded and then once she had finally regained her composure said, "Catherine's not in her office. Would you like me to page her for you?"

"Please."

Which she did, leaving Grissom to wait on hold.

But when Catherine didn't answer the page, Judy decided to go looking for her. She found the night shift supervisor busy at work in the layout room putting the final touches to the case file she, Nick and Greg had spent the last several days reviewing for the assistant D.A.

Judy gave the door a hesitant knock. "Ms. Willows, you have a call waiting."

Catherine didn't even bother to look up. The clock was ticking. They only had a few hours left to put this thing to bed.

"Tell Lindsey I will call her later," she answered almost absently.

"It's not Lindsey," Judy replied.

"Well, tell whoever it is I will have to call them back."

Judy's tone became uncharacteristically insistent. "I think you want to take it," she said. "It's Dr. Grissom."

That caught Catherine's attention – as well as Nick and Greg's.

"Transfer it here."

When the light flashed to indicate that they were connected, she picked up the receiver and without preamble or greeting launched in with, "So who complained?"

Grissom chuckled. "Nice to hear your voice, too, Catherine."

"Well, why else would you be calling? We both know you don't make social calls," she countered.

"Like they always say, there's a first time for everything."

"Right. And you know this how?" she asked. When he didn't rise to the bait she said, "So you aren't calling to check up on everything?"

"No," he answered. "I already know everything is in good hands."

"So..." she urged.

"We have some news."

"Yeah, I got the post card. Thanks. It was cute, Gil, especially the duck. But not very informative.

"And by the way, since when is the word _soon_ synonymous with_ weeks after you get this_? Or do they have a completely different way of telling time down there?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Grissom began, but before he could get much further, Catherine heard Sara calling to him from on the other end of the line.

At Grissom's "I'll be right there, dear," Catherine laughed.

"You haven't even been there for how many months now and the two of you are already starting to sound like an old married couple."

"Well, we're not exactly an _old _married couple."

There was a long moment of silence on Catherine's end while her brain tried to wrap itself around his words. In the end, she spluttered, "Did you just say what I think you…"

"I gotta go," Grissom replied, his voice suddenly sounding rather distant.

"Gil –"

"We'll send pictures soon," he promised.

"Grissom, wait! What? When? How?"

But her string of questions fell on deaf ears as Gil Grissom had already hung up.

Catherine put down the phone – still slightly in shock.

"So what was the big news?" Greg asked.

When she didn't answer, Nick turned to her. "Catherine?"

She shook her head and said, "I guess Grissom was right. There is a first time for everything," which left them both looking more baffled than before. Seemingly oblivious to this fact, she returned her attention to the case file in front of her, but not before muttering to herself, "What do you get an entomologist for a wedding present, I wonder?"

"For a _what_?" Nick asked agog.

For his part, Greg only grinned.


	3. Worth More Than A Thousand Words

**Worth More Than a Thousand Words**

It was still a little over an hour before shift was about to start when Catherine slipped into her office, relieved to have made it without running into anyone from Swing. As the supervisor of that shift, as well as most of her staff, was still relatively new (there was just something about that shift that made it hard to get and keep people for long), Catherine often became the answer person. But unlike Grissom who seemed to enjoy, if not relish that role, she wasn't all that keen on having that particular task added to her already burgeoning list of duties.

She sank down behind her desk, lifted the lid on her laptop and as she waited for the computer to boot up, checked her voice messages. She had two calls from Ecklie - one regarding an upcoming meeting to discuss resource allocation management and the other checking on the status of a case that had come in right at the end of her last shift. She couldn't help but let out an impatient sigh when the next message was from Brass asking about the very same thing. She put in a hurried call down to autopsy and finding no one there to answer the phone, left her own message for Doc to page her as soon as he had the results in. She was grateful to find her voicemail box empty after that.

She clicked on her email to check for any last minute reports or information that she might need to bring to the team before she reviewed and handed out the evening's assignments. As she scrolled passed the various day-to-day operation entries, meeting reminders and file requests, her eyes came to rest on an address she hadn't expected to find there. Glancing down at her watch, she decided there was still plenty of time to finish prepping for the night. She could spare a few minutes. So she clicked on the message and read.

*******

To: Catherine Willows

From: Sara Sidle

Subject: Greetings from Costa Rica

Catherine (et al., since I'm sure that everyone will eventually read this) -

We hope this finds you well. And that Lindsey, Ecklie and everyone else aren't driving you too crazy yet.

While Grissom is a lot better at this whole letter writing thing than I am, he went to the post office and left me at the Internet cafe to post the pictures he promised you. Yes, I know, late as usual.

He did want me to tell you to expect a package soon and to thank you for sending his things. They got here a while ago, but I guess it slipped his mind until now. Some things never change.

We've been back at work for about a month now, after a short break for a trip to the west coast and a few days of vacation. Yes, we actually took a vacation. Well more like a honeymoon than a vacation. Gil said he was going to break the whole _we got married _news to you, but from what I could hear on my end of that phone call, I'm not quite so sure he succeeded. Like I said, some things never change.

But we're both doing well and as Dr. Velasquez has graciously invited us to stay on a more permanent and official basis, it appears we will be here for a little while longer at least.

Gris is of course in entomologist heaven here. He thinks one of the guys may have discovered a new species of beetle, which has everyone (including me - sad to say) very excited.

BTW did you know the man actually knows how to climb a tree? Surprised the heck out of me. He is also equally adept at falling out of them, too.

Although I bet that Nick and Greg will get a kick out of hearing that Grissom got a month's worth of dung collecting duty when he first got here. Of course the relish in which he approached that particular task was a bit troubling. But you know Grissom - anything for the sake of science. But I have to admit that it's good to see him excited about it again, even if the pursuit is not without its perils. You will have to have him tell you about his first real encounter with a troop of howler monkeys and the episode with the army ants. Sometimes, curiosity is not such a good thing.

Well, I better finish this up, as he just walked in and will start reading over my shoulder any minute now and I won't be able to write anything else that just might embarrass him.

He does want me to have you tell Hodges that he better be taking good care of his pig.

As for the pictures attached, I somehow ended up with no veto rights on what was being sent, so blame him.

Stay safe.

-S&G

*******

Catherine quickly printed out the email as she loaded the attached video and image files onto a flash drive, knowing she wasn't likely to be the only one interested in seeing the pictures Sara had sent, and that it would be far easier to view them as a group if she took them to AV.

She was glad to see that Nick and Greg were in their office, but not so busy that what they were working on couldn't be put on hold for a few minutes. Leaning in on the doorframe, she said, "I have something the two of you might want to see."

"Oh really?" Greg asked with an almost impish grin.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Catherine sighed. "Photos from Grissom and Sara."

Nick chuckled. "You want to bet it's all bugs?"

"Scoff all you want. I'll be in AV with Archie," Catherine replied and turned to go. But both men were out of their seats and behind her before she got much beyond the door.

*******

"You guys are eager tonight," Archie said when the three of them appeared in his lab just as he was sitting down. "Hot case?"

"Honeymoon pictures," Greg replied.

"Grissom and Sara?" he asked and then said, "Cool," with an appreciative grin when the three of them nodded. He plugged the drive into his computer. "I've got video and image files here. Any place in particular that you want to start?"

"Surprise me," Catherine replied.

"You're the boss."

*******

Archie pulled up the first set of photos. They were a handful of the scenic sort, images of tall trees and rich green, hanging vines and hints of bright colorful petals here and there. A long limbed spider monkey half-dangled from a branch with only one hand and his tail to anchor him. A three-toed sloth and her young were barely visible against trunk bark. A scary, almost fanged looking orchid spread its crimson spires from dingy white petals, while a troop of leap cutter ants wielded their verdant spoils like mighty shield bearers or perhaps like ladies would have once held their dainty parasols aloft. A lone rhinoceros beetle stretched its curved horn high.

"See, I told you," Nick said. "Lots of bug pictures."

Catherine shushed him unceremoniously.

"Those colors can't be real," Greg said rather awestruck at the pink and violet tinged vista of a sunset.

"Those don't look like crime scene photos," Mandy Webster said, popping her head in the doorway, Wendy Simms right beside her. "But if we're going to start covering the beach, I just might volunteer for field work."

"Honeymoon pictures," Nick supplied, gesturing for them both to come in for a better look.

"Nice," Wendy said.

Several shots of a flock of sandpipers on the shore were followed by a few close-ups of what looked to be wild hermit crabs.

"Catherine, Doc asked me to bring up the autopsy results from yesterday's 419," Dave Phillips said all businesslike, but his tone suddenly turned appreciative as he uttered a breathy sort of "Wow" when the image on the screen turned to something far more familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once.

Sara stood on the beach absorbed in watching the waves crash over her feet. What was so unusual was she was dressed in a modestly cut swimsuit -- something far less than they were all used to seeing her in.

"David!" Catherine exclaimed agog.

"What?" he asked, looking nonplussed.

"You're married," she pointedly reminded him, taking the file folder he was extending towards her.

"Doesn't mean he can't look," Nick countered as Dave slunk out of the lab.

"I'm pretty sure Grissom didn't intend to send that one," Catherine said reaching for the mouse.

But the guys brushed her hand aside.

"Oh, come on," Greg protested. "I've seen Sara in a lot less than that."

They all goggled at him.

"It was work," he hurriedly qualified. "And all Doc's fault. He called in HAZMAT on a crime scene and they yanked us out of the house and made us strip before we could even say anything. Believe me there was _nothing_ sexy about the whole thing."

"Still, I bet Grissom wasn't pleased," Archie observed.

"Come to think about it, wasn't that around the time were you got every dumpster duty call for like a month?" Nick asked. "Why do I have the feeling that wasn't a coincidence?"

"It was more like three and it wasn't related."

"Yeah right," Nick replied.

"Has Sara always had a tattoo?" Archie queried, effectively putting an end to any previous conversation.

*******

The next set of photos proved for the most part, a lot less controversial. Rabbles of butterflies populated the large screen in a plethora of varying rainbow shades - bright orange and vibrant yellows, even a few of a brilliant iridescent blue. Spots and stripes and giant eyes peered back at them. Then Grissom stood in the midst of a swiftly winding river.

"What's he doing?" Wendy asked curiously.

"Fishing," Jim Brass replied, stepping inside. "Catherine, I just came by to see if you had gotten that file from Doc yet," he added.

Catherine handed it over as she said with a laugh, "I think the better question is _What is he wearing_? That hat!" she exclaimed.

"I was more distracted by his legs," Mandy airily replied. When they all gaped at her this time, she shrugged and said, "What? He's got nice legs."

"That is _so_ wrong on _so_ many levels," Archie observed.

"You guys can ogle Sara in a swimsuit, but I can't think Grissom has nice legs?" Mandy queried in disbelief.

"But it's Grissom," Henry Andrews interjected. "Your tox report, Catherine," he said.

Catherine motioned for him to place the file on the counter. Mandy turned to the toxicologist as if to say _So?_ When he didn't answer, she simply frowned in frustration, shook her head and after muttering that she had _a backlog of prints still to get to tonight,_ left the room, mumbling something that sounded a lot like "Boys!" when she did so, leaving Henry looking baffled for a moment before he followed her out on the way back to his own lab.

Catherine and Wendy shared a look. "Men are such hypocrites," the latter insisted. Catherine nodded.

Everyone was about to return their attention to the screen, when Conrad Ecklie strode in asking, "What's going on here?"

"Just looking at incriminating pictures," Nick explained.

"And that is crowd worthy because?" the Undersheriff queried.

"They're of Grissom," Greg clarified.

"Besides," Catherine said giving her boss a placating sort of grin, "isn't it a little late in the day for you to be here?"

"I was just on my way out," Ecklie replied. Then deciding that it wasn't worth it to try and fight what he knew right well would be a loosing battle, he simply shook his head and said, "I'm just going to pretend I'm not seeing this," and left the room without another word.

******

They were just starting on a series of insect pictures that looked like they had been taken around a beach house. A giant large-bodied spider, one with long striped legs, a blue head and a huge green abdomen speckled with yellow, sat perched up in the rafters, snug on its web. A dingy colored cockroach with great translucent wings crept along the floorboards while a gecko roosted on a windowsill, a huge dragonfly in its mouth.

"See, what did I tell you before? Lots of bug pictures," Nick said in a self-satisfied tone.

"I think I am not quite so jealous now. Or hungry," Wendy cringed.

But when Archie began to play the video files, a sudden hush filled the room. These were obviously from the wedding itself, with Sara in a simple shift of a dress that had just a hint of blue to its sheen and two clusters of white blossoms tucked behind her ears and Grissom in khakis and a dress shirt with a soft smile on his face.

The pair exchanged vows and rings in front of an older Costa Rican who looked more like a lawyer than anything. When he pronounced them married, Grissom did something that no one in the room could have expected - he reached for Sara's hand, that same one he had just slipped the simple band on just moments before, brought it up to his lips and placed a kiss into her palm. Sara beamed and drew him close. The kiss that followed began innocently enough, but it was Grissom who moved to deepen it into something far more, something long, longing and loving and obviously a lot more passionate than any of them expected.

"I'll be damned," Nick murmured.

Catherine turned to him. "What?" she asked.

"Hodges was right about something."

She looked puzzled for a moment before memory and realization sunk in and a slow smile spread over her face. "Well, don't tell him that."

"Don't tell me what?" Hodges asked.

"You know, I really am beginning to think _you_ have this place bugged," Catherine replied ruefully.

"Don't tell me what?" Hodges persisted. "What are you looking at anyway?"

"Pics from Grissom and Sara's wedding," Wendy supplied.

"Oh," he said softly, suddenly looking a little standoffish and more than a little uncomfortable. When Wendy beckoned for him to join them, he shook his head and turned to go without another word.

"Hey, Catherine," Nick called as a new video clip loaded. "Didn't you say that Grissom didn't dance?"

"I've never been able to persuade him to," she replied.

Greg having overheard said, "Maybe it depends on the partner."

"What does that make me, chopped liver?" Catherine queried.

Brass, sensing a change in topic was in order, said, "That's certainly a sight I'd never thought I would see: either of those two with rings on their fingers."

"I don't think I have ever seen either of them look so happy," Nick sighed.

"I always knew you were a closet romantic, Nicky," Brass replied with a grin.

"That's not happiness though," Catherine corrected.

"Them looking forward to the honeymoon, then?" Greg suggested.

"Don't be so crass," Nick chided.

"What then? _Love_?" Greg asked him.

"No, that's joy," came Ray Langston's deep rich voice. They all turned to stare at him in surprise. But he didn't seem to notice. There was just a knowing sort of look in the half smile he was giving them, as one hand absently fingered the wedding band on his own left hand. They had all noticed the ring, but Langston had yet to speak about his wife.

The sudden awkward pause was interrupted by Riley Adams saying, "I didn't even know Grissom could smile."

"What do you do, work on sneaking up on people in your spare time?" Greg asked, to which she just rolled her eyes.

"Well, I don't think I have ever seen Sara in a dress," Catherine said.

Greg turned from Riley and said, "I have. It was a nice dress. A really nice dress."

"A _nice_ dress?" Catherine asked, as if something had suddenly clicked. "As in a _date_ dress?"

"A serious date dress," Greg replied. "And she had flowers then, too."

"This wouldn't have been May what is it, three almost four years ago, would it?"

"Yeah."

"It's a good thing Grissom is planning on staying in Costa Rica," she said finally.

"Why?"

She stammered, "Because I'm going to give that man a serious piece of my mind if he ever shows up here," before gathering up her file folders and marching out the door towards the break room.

"What's up with her?" Riley asked, suddenly confused.

Nick smiled, "I think Catherine just worked out the mystery that has been plaguing her for the last year and a half."

Riley shrugged, "And she didn't like the answer?"

"'_Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple_,'" Langston intoned solemnly.

"Albert Einstein?" Nick guessed.

"No. Theodor Seuss Geisel."

"_Doctor Seuss?_" Greg inquired incredulously.

"What? You think the most profound thing that man ever said was, '_One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish'_?"

*******

Wendy gave a quiet rap on the door before tentatively entering the Trace Lab.

"You okay?" she asked Hodges, who was seated at his workstation with an uncharacteristically distant and distracted sort of look on his face.

He started and stammered "Yeah, why?"

"Well, first, you didn't stay to look at the pictures earlier," she began to explain. "And then you've been hiding in your lab ever since."

"I haven't been hiding," he protested. "I've been busy."

Indicating his clear work area, she said, "Yeah, you look really busy, Hodges."

"I just wasn't in the mood."

"You do know that jealousy doesn't suit you."

"It's not jealousy," he countered.

"What then?"

Hodges shrugged his shoulders and sighed before saying, "I guess I always thought of Grissom as a lone wolf. You know, the guy who was willing to do whatever had to be done, no matter what the cost. Even if that meant he had to do it alone."

"Don't you think that's an awful lot to ask of anyone?" Wendy asked, giving him a wry sort of smile. When he didn't answer, she said, "There's more to life than just work, Hodges. Even Grissom had his bugs -- and Sara apparently. You have your board games and a cat."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"I'm not." When he continued to look doubtful, Wendy insisted, "Seriously. Actually, the whole thing gives me hope," she added. "I mean if there is someone out there to put up with Grissom and his weird bug obsession, then there's bound to be someone who will put up with my neuroses. Heck, there's probably even someone, somewhere who will put up with yours."

"That's very reassuring," came his curt reply.

"Come on, Hodges. You're his friend. Be happy for him. For them," she implored. "Besides, shift ends in fifteen minutes. Why don't we go have a drink? Toast the happy couple," Wendy suggested. "Unless you have plans."

"Isn't it a little early in the day for a drink?"

"We could make it coffee then."

"You do realize that the half-life of caffeine is often more than 4 hours especially for women who..."

"Before you finish that sentence," she interrupted, her voice getting a testy sort of tone to it. "Let me spell it out for you in terms even you can understand. It's been a long shift and a long week and in fifteen minutes, I plan to pack up and go out for a while. If you would like to join me, fine. If not, fine. Then I will just see you in," she paused to check her watch. "Fourteen hours when shift starts. It's up to you."

And with that, she marched out of Trace, almost careening into Henry as she did so.

"What's wrong with her?" Henry asked.

Instead of answering, Hodges replied with a question of his own, "Do _you_ think I'm neurotic?"

He wasn't comforted in the slightest by Henry's ready and amiable, "Is that a rhetorical question?"

*******

_Earlier the previous day, Costa Rica_

Sara was in the process of packing up and slipping the flash drive into her pocket when Grissom came up behind her.

"Did you send the pictures?" he asked.

She nodded and as she slung her backpack over her shoulder said, "Everything in the folder."

Grissom suddenly looked alarmed. "Which folder?" he queried.

"The one labeled _pictures_," she replied, as if the answer were obvious.

"The whole folder?"

She handed the young man at the counter a 500 colones coin before turning to Grissom and saying, "You told me to send the pictures in the pictures folder."

"The wedding pictures folder," he corrected.

It was her turn to look concerned now. "There was more than one folder?"

"You didn't check to see what you were sending first?" he asked as if it would have been the most normal thing in the world for her to have done.

"Normally yes," she replied. Having him show up ten minutes before she expected him and while she was in the middle of writing about things she could imagine Grissom thinking were better left unshared had thrown her for a loop. So she had just quickly inserted the file and hit _Send_. "You should be happy I remembered to attach anything at all," Sara laughed nervously. "Short line at the post office today?" she teased, hoping to dispel a little of the anxiety he was suddenly displaying with an attempt at humor, however feeble. When that didn't work, she said, "What was in the folder anyway? You been taking pictures that I don't know about?"

"No, dear," Grissom solemnly intoned. "But Mateo was more than a little camera happy. If I recall."

"You were the one who gave him the instructions. And showed him how to use the video function. You know, I think I am beginning to sense a pattern here."

"That all of this is my fault?"

"And some men are married for years and years without realizing that particular truth," Sara grinned. "You really are a quick study, Gil."

"Thanks, dear."

But then an amused sort of smile spread over his face.

"What?" came Sara's confused query.

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall..." Grissom began.

"I doubt there is anything there that would scandalize Catherine."

"True," he conceded. "But I don't think the guys have ever seen you in a swimsuit before."

"Remind me to thank you for that later. Especially as I distinctly remember asking you to delete those pictures."

Grissom however didn't look the least bit apologetic. Sara pursed her lips and putting her hands on her hips said, "Hand the bag over."

Knowing exactly what that look meant, he did as she said, although he had a hard time hiding his amusement as he did so. Even though he already knew the answer, he asked, "What are you looking for?" when she began to hurriedly rummage through his rucksack.

"The camera," she answered, pulling it out and slipping it into her own pack. "You've officially lost your picture taking privileges until further notice."

"You were the one who sent the file out," he vaguely protested.

Sara made no reply to this; instead she began to set off down the street, but not without first pausing to say, "Just remember that turn about is fair play,_ Gilbert_."

At this, Grissom did indeed stop smiling.


	4. Fowl Play

**Fowl Play**

We've all heard of hen pecked husbands, but this takes the cake.

_Follows "Going with the Living." Fourth installment in the _Meanwhile series_ after "Notice of Intent," "Calling In" and "Worth More than a Thousand Words," _

_circa Spring 2009._

_*******_

_Costa Rica, Saturday Afternoon_

In the town's lone Internet café, Grissom located Sara firmly ensconced and apparently utterly engrossed. This came as no surprise, as while the camp's sat connection allowed them to send basic emails, any longer, more detailed or multimedia messages were best sent using a landline. He pushed open the door and went to join her. Upon spotting him, Sara's appearance of absorption soon turned to amused sort of relish.

"You're looking awfully smug about something," Grissom observed.

"Just email," she grinned.

"Good news?"

Sara shook her head. "Sending not receiving."

Suddenly sounding a lot more concerned, Grissom asked, "What exactly are you sending?"

"You mean sent?" she questioned as she motioned for him to take a seat beside her. Sara clicked open her sent email folder and hit play on the video file from her latest message.

Grissom's eyes went wide.

"Is that..." he began after a moment.

"Yeah."

"And..."

She nodded eagerly.

In a valiant, but futile, attempt to come off as nonchalant, Grissom said, "I thought you said you weren't going to..."

"I didn't need to write," Sara maintained. "The video is fairly self-explanatory, don't you think?"

He didn't deign to reply to this. Instead, Grissom sighed, "Do I even want to know how you got that?"

"Technology is a wonderful thing, Gil. These days cameras fit in the palm of your hand."

His next sigh was even more pronounced. "The one time you had the presence of mind to take video."

Sara's grin only grew. "Funny how that turned out."

"Yeah, real funny, dear."

"It was you that gave me the idea," she countered. "To send it, I mean."

When Grissom gave her a patently confused look, she added, "Remember what you told Luis about paybacks?" by way of explanation.

"Vaguely."

"Your recall a little clearer about those swimsuit pictures from our honeymoon that..."

"You sent to the lab?" he finished helpfully.

"_Inadvertently _sent to the lab," Sara clarified. "The ones I asked you to delete and you didn't."

"Yes, those."

"Well, Gilbert, I've always been a firm believer in _turnabout is fair play_."

"Touché."

*******

_Costa Rica, Several Days Previous_

The incident in question had begun ordinarily and innocently enough with Grissom having breakfast duty that morning. Of course those days breakfast duty had become slightly more complicated.

A few weeks before, after Ana had spent yet another ten minutes bemoaning in very rapid and rabid Spanish the high rate of breakage in the eggs they brought back from town each Saturday, Stephen suggested they attempt to raise their own laying hens. That way thanks to the natural prolificacy of chickens, camp would have an ample supply of fresh eggs at their disposal.

While Grissom and Sara, both inveterate city dwellers, had shrugged and rather reluctantly agreed to the proposal (although privately labeling the whole affair as _Stephen's chicken experiment_), the idea wasn't all that far-fetched. Many local families kept their own chickens. Ana, Luis and Bernie had all grown up with them. Besides, history and science placed the origins of the practice of domesticating chicken species in the jungles of Vietnam, so raising chickens in the middle of the rainforest wasn't _that _out there.

And the arrangement had worked out well. Or at least hadn't proven problematic. Until that morning.

It had seemed a natural enough extension of morning cooking duties to include tending to the chickens and collecting the eggs. Usually it only ever added about ten minutes to the total workload. Fill the feeders. Make sure the waterers had plenty of fresh water. Rake the droppings out to add to the compost heap. Scatter the dry scratch to encourage the hens out of their nesting boxes to make it easier to retrieve the eggs. Simple.

Except Grissom accidentally almost dropped a couple of eggs as he was backing out of the pen and somehow in the short amount of time it took for him to straighten up and actually proceed through the door, one of the hens scurried between his legs, managing to fly the proverbial coop.

Well, flee at least. Even though the leghorns were a bit on the large and heavy side, they could still technically fly, so Ana had had their wings clipped. Unfortunately, that didn't in the least effect their ability to run. Fast.

At least faster than Grissom.

*******

Sara, in the midst of her usual early morning routine of insect specimen cleaning and processing, was photo-documenting a particularly showy example of _Undulambia polystichalis_ when she felt rather than saw something scurry over the top of her feet. She started. Stood.

Hank who had up until that moment been busy with his early morning nap at her side was instantly alert and awake. And curious.

There was the flash of white feathers.

Then Grissom darted past.

Sara goggled after him.

_Was that...? _she wondered, not sure if she had really seen what she thought she'd seen. But she had.

Yep. Her husband, the illustrious Dr. Gil Grissom, one of the foremost forensic entomologists in North America, was chasing a chicken.

And having never been able to do anything but peer bewilderedly at the hens from the other side of the wire mesh, Hank had apparently decided that his master shouldn't be the only one to have all the fun. He gave a loud, bellowing woof that only served to spook the chicken more before he bolted after them both.

Of course Hank had chosen to leap into the fray at the most inopportune time. Just as Grissom almost had the hen cornered enough to catch her, the boxer bounded up and sent the bird racing off in the opposite direction. Grissom, being the unwitting victim of one of the most basic principles of inertia, stumbled face down into the dirt.

He uttered a very loud and colorful curse as he hurriedly scrambled to his feet and set off again in hot pursuit. Sara hastily stepped aside and plastered herself against the table as Grissom hurtled past, before she followed at a careful, but curious, amused and not so distant distance.

The running, racing, fleeing, shrieking (on the part of the chicken) and barking went on for several more long harried minutes. How the racket hadn't managed to rouse the entire camp, Sara had no idea.

But enough was enough. So she simply stripped off her windbreaker and tossed it over the frantic chicken.

Instantly, it stilled.

Hot, sweaty and still panting, Grissom gaped open mouthed at his wife. When he was finally able to even come close to catching his breath, he gasped, "Why didn't you do that five minutes ago?"

"Because that would have taken all the fun out of it," Sara shrugged. "Besides, I hardly ever get to see you run," she added, bending to effortlessly scoop the now docile hen from the ground.

He glared at her. "So you finally decided to intervene because?"

"The chicken was winning," she offered as she eased the fabric from the chicken's head and began stroking the white plumage along its back.

Gesturing to the way Sara gently, yet firmly cradled the bird close to her own body, Grissom said, "Spend time on a farm that I don't know about?"

She let out a short dismissive snicker. "No. Luis explained what to do if one of them ever got loose."

"And neither of you passed on this potentially helpful information because..."

Sara tried not to laugh, as it appeared that in this case, however uncharacteristic, Grissom's knowledge about domesticated fowl seemed to have proven to be more esoteric than practical.

"We assumed you already knew what to do," she replied. "I mean your grandfather..."

"That was rabbits," Grissom rapidly interjected. "Just rabbits."

"Ah. Well, then for future reference, if one gets out, don't worry if you can't catch her. She'll probably wander back to the coop on her own before sundown."

"Good to know," he said, some of his own usual placidity returning.

Until he noticed that the hen in Sara's arms had closed its eyes and appeared incredulously enough to have fallen fast asleep. At the aghast look on Grissom's face, Sara gave him another shrug as well as a soft smile.

"You tired her out," she said.

"_I_ tired _her_ out?"

Sara however addressed her next comment to the chicken, "Come on Lucy, let's get you back home."

"_Lucy_?" Grissom echoed.

"Yeah, that's her name. Lucy."

"That figures," he intoned a little grumpily.

It was Sara's turn to look bewildered.

"Lucy - short for Lucifer," he explained.

With a dismissive shake of the head she replied, "You're just prejudiced. She's really sweet. And my favorite."

"You have a favorite chicken?"

"I do now."

*******

Towards the end of dinner that night while everyone was still gathered around the table, Luis rose and said in his not quite perfect English, "Dr. G., we hear about you and the chicken this morning."

Grissom shot Sara a dirty look. She gave him a guileless sort of grin.

But Luis was still speaking. "And we find a chicken you have no problem to catch. So you can have practice."

As Grissom was ever an advocate for the repeated practicing of anything one had difficulties with, he couldn't quite dispute the wisdom of this. So he merely waited for Luis to continue.

The young man said nothing more, he only propped an egg in the center of the table. On it was the crudely drawn figure of a chicken.

Suddenly, everyone was having a difficult time trying hard not to laugh.

Grissom, not utterly immune to the apparent humor in the situation himself, said, shaking his head ruefully as he did so, "Go ahead, you might as well get it all out and over with."

And they did. The table erupted into laughter and before long, they were all chuckling so hard that a few of them had tears of amusement streaming down their faces and none of them could breathe.

Once the hysterics had passed, Grissom gave the table a knowing sort of look as he said, "You know, Luis, there is this saying in English. _Payback is..._"

"Gil!" Sara interjected both amused and aghast at the same time.

Ana chuckled. "I believe the rest of that translates as _una perra_," she offered obligingly.

Luis was suddenly looking a whole lot less cocky.

*******

_Las Vegas, Sunday Morning_

All of the added duties as undersheriff usually kept Conrad Ecklie busy enough during the daytime and the week that unless there was a case or concern that needed his direct and immediate attention he usually left the Sunday morning grave yard shift to their own devices.

It wasn't like there was usually much free time for them to get into any mischief anyway. The previous Saturday night usually brought with it more than its fair share of crime and chaos to be sorted through so that the shift didn't tend to be particularly light or fun.

For his part Ecklie would rather have spent that morning out on the links, but the sheriff had asked him to stop by and check up on a rather high profile case in person.

Which was why he could be found prowling the halls at eight a.m. on his way towards the garage where Catherine was said to be working.

Except that morning, the lab seemed to be in a flutter about something.

An unusual sort of cheerfulness, a general air of amusement seemed to pervade the place There was an alarming large amount of stifled tittering going on, as well as more than a few barely concealed smirks.

Ecklie considered asking what was so funny, but then decided there were just some things he really didn't want to know.


End file.
